


The one with all the sass

by bitsandbobsandstuff



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mild Language, Mouthy Bucky Barnes, Sassy Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsandbobsandstuff/pseuds/bitsandbobsandstuff
Summary: You want to learn how to drive a manual vehicle, and Bucky offers to teach. Things don’t go smoothly.





	The one with all the sass

**Author's Note:**

> This was the second thing I ever wrote involving Bucky Barnes, still makes me smile. It may also be based on real life events...

**_Number 3: Learn how to drive a manual vehicle._ **

It was on your resolutions list, one of those goals that stubbornly remained in the top three, year after year. Every January, you dutifully copied it onto the fresh handwritten note you posted on the mirror in your bedroom, underlining it three times because dammit, _this was it_ , this was the year you would finally succeed.

Six years later, you were once again within sight of the year’s end, having made no progress, except for drawing angry little stick-figures on the offending post-it note (you swore it was mocking you). After overhearing you complain about your inability to tackle this particular task, Bucky had surprisingly volunteered to teach you the basics. Admittedly, you questioned whether this was a good idea. The two of you were well known among…well, everyone…for a disturbing lack of patience with each other. However, if he was willing to lend a hand, who were you to say no.  


* * *

 

So here you are, on a bright, cold November morning, sitting in a faded blue ‘68 Ford pick-up Bucky had nostalgically purchased from an estate sale. A massive, and blessedly empty, parking lot stretches in front of you, leaving plenty of open room for mistakes.

Bucky had driven you out, and after swapping places, he sat in the passenger seat, you in the drivers. Bouncing a little on the dusty cloth seats, the rusted springs squeak indignantly while you get yourself comfortable, before turning expectantly toward him.

“Alright, what do you do first?” he asks, sounding irritatingly similar to the older brother you never actually had, but always felt certain you would throat punch if he existed.

“First, I push in the clutch to start – ” your confident recitation is immediately cut off.

“Wrong. First you put your seatbelt on.” Bucky states flatly, eyebrows raised.

You roll your eyes at him. “Alright yes, first I put my seat belt on.” Pulling the shoulder belt down, the lap belt across, you snap both into place with a sharp click. “Okay, now I push in the clutch –“

“Wrong. Next you check all your mirrors.”

You stare at him. Well this was going to be interesting.

“Seriously? Is this how this lesson is going to work?”

“Yes, because the basics are still important. If you don’t follow the rules, you could die.”

“And we don’t think that’s just the teeniest bit dramatic?”

“No. We don’t.”

You sigh. Bucky Barnes is stubborn as hell, so if this is his teaching style, clearly it will be simpler to humour him. But really, when did you ever make things simple?

“Alright fine, safety first. I brought my safety glasses along, so hang on and let me grab those, and should I get out my kneepads and helmet too, or…?”

“Your sass is not appreciated. Fix the mirrors.”

With a dramatic flourish, you check each side mirror four times, and wiggle the rear-view mirror back and forth for a full 30 seconds. Bucky watches patiently from the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap, a smirk twisting his lips.

Finally you settle down. “Okay. My seatbelt is on, and I can see for miles in every direction. No possibility for sneak attacks from a rogue Prius. Now – I push the clutch in all the way, and start the truck.” You turn the key and the truck splutters to life, as you turn to him with a grin. “By the way, you never told me I’d be learning on a truck born before the invention of electricity.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. “If you’re gonna mock her, we can stop this lesson right now.”

“Kidding, kidding, she’s remarkable. A beauty. A testament to the ingenuity of the historic American manufacturing machine.”

“I’m sorry, remind me what I said about sass?”

“That you love it and I’m adorable? No? Sorry. Anyway, so now I put it into first.” You grasp the stick and maneuverer from neutral into first gear, Bucky visibly flinching at the grinding squeal the gears make as they catch.

“When you’re done stripping the gears, slowly let out the clutch and gently press the gas at the same time.”

Tossing an annoyed glance in his direction, you grip the wheel tightly and lightly toe the gas pedal. With an almighty lurch, the truck leaps forward and dies.

Christ. You could feel your earlier confidence rapidly dissolving. Bucky just grins, shaking his head. “It’s okay, common mistake. Try again.”

Dropping back into neutral, it takes another three attempts to get the truck into first gear and actually moving forward.

Whooping excitedly, you give a little wiggle in the seat as you roll forward, picking up speed. “Fuck yeah, I’ve totally got this.”

“Alright speed racer, simmer down.” Bucky notes dryly. “You’ve gone 15 feet. Give it a little more gas, so you can switch into second.”

The excitement of momentary success briefly overshadows perspective, and your foot stomps down on the gas pedal, throwing the truck forward, your seatbelt biting into your shoulder. Mercifully, you manage to keep it from stalling again, but suddenly you’re going faster. Your heart jumps at the feel, and you feel the sweat prickling on your forehead.

“Alright, I can smell the clutch burning, stop riding it.”

“You stop riding it!”

“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You don’t make sense!

“What??”

“Shit, I don’t fucking know, I’m panicking! How do I not ride the clutch?” You take your hands off the wheel briefly, putting air-quotes around the phrase “ride the clutch” and Bucky’s voice rises several octaves as he shoots a hand out to take the wheel.

“What the hell are you doing, always keep your hands on the wheel! Ten and two at all times!”

Huffing loudly you slap his hand away and take back control, his panic causing your nerves to snap, and your voice sharpens in response. “Bucky, it’s an empty parking lot, what the hell do you think will happen?”

Bucky looks nervously around – true, it was huge and empty, although there was a row of parking curbs and a couple shopping carts strewn about, all which suddenly seem like rather ominous targets. “I don’t know, a fiery crash and a slow burning death maybe?”

You roll your eyes, the sarcasm flooding your voice as the conversation between you both escalated. “You’re fucking hilarious. Could you maybe try to be a bigger drama queen?”

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m being realistic. Statistically the odds of dying in a car crash are higher – ”

“For fuck’s sake, please stop speaking, unless you can pull – out of your ass please – the statistics for total number of people who died of boredom waiting for the world’s oldest truck to go faster than a speeding snail.”

Neither of you are paying attention to the landscape at this point, although the truck continues to move along at a decent pace, choosing instead to sling colourful insults at each other, growing more and more childish with each turn of phrase. With an exasperated groan from Bucky at your continued use of ‘that’s what she said’, he glances out the window and in the next moment, throws out a metal hand to your left leg, gripping your knee and yanking it toward him, effectively sweeping both feet away from the pedals. The truck jerks to an immediate stop, shuddering before falling silent.

In the silence you freeze, panting slightly, before whipping around angrily. “What the actual fuck Bucky Barnes?! I had it under control, it was a god damn  _parking_ _curb_ , what did you think would –” your rant is just starting to build up steam, but doesn’t get any further.

With a thoroughly frustrated growl, Bucky lunges forward, smashing his lips into yours. A smart way to shut you up, you had to admit. Your response is immediate and enthusiastic, heart racing for a new reason entirely, shivering slightly as Bucky’s beard scrapes along your cheek when he turns toward you. With a tangle of hands and tongues, you fight each other for control, before he pulls back to take a breath, resting his forehead against yours, and leaving you both more than a little surprised at the turn of events.

“About fucking time,” you whisper. “I swear to god, you’ve been pushing my buttons for far too long without delivering. If I had known I needed to crash your truck to get a response, I would have tried that sooner,” your fingers twist in his hair, holding him a breath away. “Did you see your life flash before your eyes?”

Bucky snorts, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “I swear to god woman, your fucking mouth,” he mutters with a grin, his hand still holding tight to your knee. “I can think of fifty better uses for it, beyond the ridiculous amounts of sass and swearing you seem to have on autopilot. Maybe we head back and agree a few alternatives.”

You’re inclined to agree, it seems like the only logical solution considering you nearly died today, but there’s one minor issue. “I still can’t drive a manual. What the hell happens if I go somewhere and this is the only thing available? What am I supposed to do then?”

Bucky reaches to release your seat-belt and wraps an arm around you, easily dragging you across his lap (pausing a moment to give you a suggestive look), before depositing you in the passenger seat and sliding himself behind the wheel. Effortlessly, he starts the truck, flicks the stick into first, and smoothly takes off, before throwing you a cheeky grin. “I’ll teach you how to ride a bicycle.”

You glare at him.

“By the way sweetheart – put your seat-belt on.”


End file.
